


crimson and clover

by sweetwatersong



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Drabble, Gen, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: Here is what they do not tell you about the Tesseract: Although it is the Mind Stone, it can take control of your soul as well. It does not matter that your heart is in two parts.





	crimson and clover

They fight in the echoing and empty catwalk, their boots echoing on the grating, their snarls and hisses rebounding from the Helicarrier’s metal bones. Clint is hindered by his wounds but carries on uncaring, forcing his body to fight as if it is not battered and drained, ignoring the currents of pain and alarm that run under the imperatives of the Tesseract. There is a streak of red flying over the rails and around his feet, tangling with the bloodhound at his side and leaving claw and fang marks in its wake; there is red washing through the woman’s hair as she moves, lithe and lethal and dancing with a ferocity he’s forced to respect. His every blow countered, his every move foiled, Clint wants to shout at the stalemate, at the frustration of knowing and not knowing the same.

Then her hands move, the world tilts and whirls as pain rings through his head and drops him as swiftly as a shot. He hits the grating and gasps, drags his eyes up to see the bloodhound springing for the woman’s throat, white fangs aiming for whiter skin as the woman’s daemon screams.

“No,” Clint whispers, washed over by an alien sense of dread while the woman catches the hound’s jaws in her hands and fights to hold the daemon off. The blue tinge of the Tesseract is sliding away because the woman is armed, the weasel will go for the jugular, the other half of his soul is in danger. “ _Clover-_ “

And everything stills, bloodhound and partner and marten together frozen in a tableau that’s clean and gray for the first time in days. Natasha’s eyes flick to him, dark and wide as Clover’s teeth slice open the exposed pads of her fingers, as her chest heaves under the bulk of his daemon. _His daemon_. How could he have forgotten?

Everything is silent, everyone is still until Clint holds out his hand, aching.

Clover pushes away from her target, drops to all fours and shakes herself as if to shed water. She stumbles when she walks, disjointed in a way she hasn’t been since they were young and new in their bodies; she stumbles, but she crosses the catwalk to slump down beside him. Novoy scrambles up to Natasha’s neck, curling around it to reassure them both in a habit that is as familiar as Clint’s own heartbeat, and through the exhaustion he looks back up at Natasha, now leaning against the rails and cradling her hands to her chest. Droplets of blood splash onto the grating between them, as thick as the silence building in the catwalk, as heavy as the guilt that finally begins to weigh down on him.

Clint closes his eyes, shifting his arm to wrap it around Clover despite the flash of agony the movement brings them both, and tries to believe he can be whole again now that she's at his side.


End file.
